


crooked. winding. lonesome. dangerous.

by louciferish



Series: Fanfiction for Reproductive Rights [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, BAMF Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Minor Violence, Peril, Rescue Missions, Reunions, bamf yuuri katsuki, but actually only kissing, multiple references to airplane sex, self-saving damsels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 22:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is the second-most decorated spy in the International Spy Union. His husband, Victor (retired), is the first.It's a routine mission - break in, capture a MacGuffin, break out. Easy stuff. But when an unexpected twist of bad luck ends in Yuuri getting captured instead, it forces Victor back into the field for one more day.Some low-level bad guys have bitten off a lot more than they can chew.





	crooked. winding. lonesome. dangerous.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willag/gifts).



> Title cribbed from a quote by Edward Abbey: _May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds._
> 
> This is one of the last few works I'll be publishing in my Fic for Reproductive Rights project. The generous and lovely Crisha gave me the option of writing Victuuri as complementary partners in both live and career, or of writing their reunion after being separated. I chose to attempt doing both. ;) 
> 
> Spies aren't usually my thing, but this one grabbed me by the hair and dragged me kicking and screaming down a hell of a road.
> 
> Thanks to thewalrus_said for betaing!
> 
> There's some mild violence and threats of serious harm, but most of it is only targeted toward nameless bad guys. It's comic book-level violence - no blood. Otherwise nothing worth warning for, I think. If you disagree, let me know, and I'm always willing to add tags.

As walls went, this one wasn’t that intimidating. It was maybe eight feet high and constructed from dark grey stone of some type that Yuuri probably ought to recognize but couldn’t, and there wasn’t even barbed wire at the top. It was a medium-difficulty wall.

Still, Yuuri had a policy of giving _every_ wall his full attention. After all, even an easy one could be concealing unpleasant surprises. So he took a few steps back, sucked in a deep breath, and ran at it with all the velocity he could muster.

He felt the moment the toe of his shoe caught friction on the stone, and knew he’d make it. A split second later, his hands were over the top, grasping at the sharp corners to hoist the rest of him up to the ledge.

“We should have set up cameras,” Victor sighed in his ear. Despite the many miles between them, it sounded like he was on the wall right beside Yuuri—or back at home, curled up behind him in their bed. “At the very least, they could send a drone.”

Yuuri huffed, trying not to laugh in the middle of an infiltration—again—as he stretched himself out flat on top of the wall. “You’ve seen me scale a wall before,” he pointed out. “Several, in fact.”

“Yes,” Victor said, “but I enjoy the view every time.”

Peering over the other side, Yuuri scanned the interior for guards or traps, but found only patchy, dry grass and shrubs covering pale soil. “All clear here,” he said. “I’m going to drop down.”

“Of _course_ it’s all clear. What kind of handler would I be if I didn’t check these things ahead of time?”

“You can never be too careful,” Yuuri reminded him, quoting Yakov. Victor’s groan through the transmitter made clear what he thought of that. In his own time in the field, “careful” had hardly been a word anyone would apply to Victor.

Yuuri crossed the lawn of the compound at a sprint, keeping himself low to the ground and counting on the combination of speed and dark clothing to hide him from view. When he reached the back door of the looming metal-sided building, he slipped a card from his shirt and passed it over a scanner, which flashed green.

“Any nasty surprises through door number one?” Yuuri asked, hand still hovering on the latch.

“Oh, you know,” Victor drawled, sounding bored, “just the giant pool of ravenous great white sharks you’re about to drop into.”

For a split second, the joke caught Yuuri, then he groaned softly. He could almost hear Victor’s smirk through the transmitter. “You’re not funny,” he muttered 

“I’m very amusing,” Victor replied. Under the guise of sneaking inside, Yuuri elected to ignore him.

A long, dimly-lit hallway lay before him like a cliche. It was tinged with red where tiny emergency lights dotted the floor. Intellectually, Yuuri knew that during the day this space was lit by bright halogen bulbs and packed with employees in jumpsuits and lab coats, but at the moment it _did_ look like something out of _Mission: Impossible_.

“I’m in,” Yuuri said. “Where’s the target from here?”

Along the transmitter came the clacking of computer keys as Victor ran a quick check on the file and layouts. “Should be… ten doors down and to your left. You’ll need to gain entry to another, locked corridor, and then the next locked door will require the key Chris got you.”

“Understood,” Yuuri said. He worked his way down the hall slowly, scanning his surroundings. At the same time, he’d need to keep an eye on the floor for traps, watch the ceilings for surveillance signals, _and_ count the doors in the hall.

In his ear, Victor sighed again. “I _really_ wish I had visual right now.”

“To watch me walk down a hallway?” Yuuri whispered. “You can do that in our apartment. Daily. Usually with much less body armor.”

“Yes, and as much as I _love_ that view, it’s not actually why I want visual at the moment.” Their transmitters were sensitive enough that Yuuri could pick up the click-click-click of Victor tapping his pen against his desk—a nervous habit he’d picked up from Yuuri since their marriage. “I wish I could be there to watch your six, that’s all.”

“I can watch my own back,” Yuuri assured him. He was coming up on door five now. Halfway there—best to change the subject. “How many targets did Chris have to sleep with to get the intel for this mission, anyway? It seems like every bit we have came from a different employee.”

Victor hummed in his ear, making the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck rise. “Three, I think,” he said. “Possibly four.”

“Is that a record?” Yuuri was just reaching the seventh door. Progress was slow, but only because he was thorough. It wouldn’t do to botch everything by missing an important sign, especially not if Victor was already worried about whether Yuuri could watch out for himself.

“No.” Victor sounded bitter, like the word was acid in his mouth. “But he cheated to get his record. It shouldn’t count.” 

“Why not?” 

Victor took his time answering—time enough for Yuuri to reach the ninth door. “We had a wager,” he admitted at last. “Chris could have gotten the same intel from _half_ as many honeypots if it weren’t for that.”

Ah. Victor had lost, then. Yuuri put a hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away his smile so it wouldn’t come through in his voice. 

It wasn’t surprising Victor lost if the wager was who could do more honeypot missions between him and Chris. Before Yuuri began to work with Victor, he never would have guessed that the Living Legend himself was _shit_ at seduction work. It was his greatest weakness as a spy.

Yuuri reached door ten. Despite the intel, he tried the knob. “Locked,” he confirmed on the line, and Victor hummed again in acknowledgement, so Yuuri dropped to his knees, pulling the lock picks from his belt.

Now that Yuuri knew Victor well—better than anyone else on the planet, really—he could see _why_ Victor sucked as a honeypot, even though he was hotter than the Gobi in summer. All the instincts and needs that made Victor a wonderful, loving husband also made him a terrible asset to send on a seduction mission. Victor loved _passion_. He loved to be _close_ , and to hold onto his lovers. He loved taking things slow and truly connecting when he was with someone.

Those weren’t traits that extended well to work that demanded quick and dirty seduction, wham-bam-thank-you-sir. That Chris would win in a competition between the two of them was obvious.

When Yuuri was young, he’d never have believed there was something he might be better at than his role model… but of course, his talents were going to waste now. Or, not wasted, but reserved—for one particular person. Even before they were officially a couple, Victor hadn’t been able to cope with acting as Yuuri’s handler if Yuuri was on a honeypot job. His jealousy was… intense? Overwhelming?

No. _Inspiring_.

On that thought, Yuuri smiled, and the latch clicked open at last. “Got it,” Yuuri said.

“Great work,” Victor murmured in his ear. “That one took a while, hmm? Distracted by any thoughts in particular?”

Damn Victor. He knew Yuuri too well, and Yuuri took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. International super spies didn’t _blush_ during missions. 

Yuuri opened the door, stepping inside. “Wouldn’t you like to kn-”

Back at base, Victor’s end of the transmitter went dead. Silence. Not even the faint, subsonic buzz of a live connection, just black air.

“Yuuri?” Victor called, but there was no answer. “ _Yuuri? Do you read me? What’s happening?_ ”

Silence.

On the side of Victor’s desk, beneath a sheaf of papers and a pile of old manila folders, was a bright red button. Victor shoved everything else to the floor and slammed his hand down on it. 

All three monitors on his desk flickered, even the one he was playing sudoku on, and then Phichit’s face appeared in high definition on the central screen.

“Victor!” Phichit said brightly, waving his fingers. There was a hamster perched on his shoulder, and his smile showed brilliant white teeth, in high contrast against his all-black clothing. “Did you hit the button with your elbow again?”

“No time for jokes—Yuuri’s transmitter just went dark.”

Phichit’s smile vanished, and he scooted in closer to the screen. His eyes darted around as he began pulling up data on his other monitors while still addressing Victor. “It could be a malfunction,” he said, “or a system outage. You may just be the first to notice. I’ll reboot Yuuri’s transmitter remotely, then check the others while it comes back up.”

“Sure,” Victor said. He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desktop, watching Phichit’s frantic movements. If there were an outage, Phichit would have his hands full with other handlers hitting their panic buttons as well, but no other calls were pinging in over Victor’s. 

He could see the exact moment Yuuri’s earpiece finished rebooting, when Phichit’s face fell from serious to dismayed. Yuuri was the only agent missing.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Phichit said, by way of an answer. 

“Who, me?” Victor asked. He threw the pen he was holding at the ceiling, and it stuck from the point, quivering in the pockmarked tiles. “I would never.”

“Please, Victor. Give me a few minutes to run some more checks. If it still looks wrong, we’ll send a team to get him—you _know_ we will.”

“Sure,” Victor agreed, pasting on a smile as he nodded and knowing it wouldn’t fool Phichit for a moment. “Of course. Let me know when you hear something.”

He clicked to disconnect the call and rose from his chair. Victor knew exactly how these things were supposed to work. There’d be checks of the systems again, then a third check. Phichit would have to report to Yakov, who would have to contact International Spy Union headquarters and see who was available for an emergency team. It could all take hours to organize.

Victor was in St. Petersburg at the moment. Yuuri was in Milan. It would take a few hours just to fly there, and that meant Victor needed to get going—now. Every minute that passed would put Yuuri at greater risk.

From the top of his closet, Victor snagged a battered grey duffel bag and unzipped the top, checking the contents—clothes, passports, burner phones, pistol, silencer—everything a spy on the go might need to rescue his wayward husband.

As Victor zipped the bag closed, his wedding ring winked in the light. He stopped for a moment, pressing the smooth metal to his lips for luck, then he shouldered his bag and left.

-

Yuuri regained consciousness slowly, pulled from sleep by a familiar, throbbing ache at the back of his skull. In training, he’d drilled this scenario a thousand times, and so he kept his eyes closed and took stock of his surroundings. He was upright, in a hard-backed chair, and the familiar weight of his transmitter was gone from his ear. No Victor. He pushed that stab of worry down and refocused on the room. Victor could look after himself.

His hands were in his lap, and he could feel the rough metal embrace of handcuffs around his wrists. His ankles were similarly bound to the legs of the chair. He couldn’t see any light through his eyelids, but he heard voices nearby—two men arguing in Italian. One of them wanted to wake him up with a club to the face. Better to open his eyes before that could happen.

Yuuri blinked and frowned, feigning having just woken, and one of the men in the room took notice, calling to the others. 

One piece of luck for Yuuri—his contact lenses were still in place. The men surrounding him wore black balaclava and body armor, their faces and features concealed. One of them was wearing glasses with thick plastic rims over his stupid mask. 

_Oh good,_ Yuuri thought, _amateurs_.

A man stepped forward, holding a club to Yuuri’s throat. “Who are you?” He demanded in Italian.

Yuuri tilted his head like a dog and blinked, his movement dislodging the club from putting pressure on anything important. “Nani?”

“Who do you _work for_?” one of the other men chimed in.

Yuuri looked over at him and frowned. “Nani? Wakarimasen.”

The man shot a look at one of the others beside him. “What do you think? Is he playing dumb?”

“He’s definitely a spy,” the other replied. “That thing we took out of his ear looked very advanced, too. I texted a pic to Valter in the tech department, and he said probably ISU hardware.”

“Hmm.” The first man looked Yuuri up and down slowly. His gaze stopped at Yuuri’s lap, and he chuckled. “Did you notice? Our spy is wearing a wedding ring.” He grinned at the other man with teeth like a shark. “Now we know which finger to cut off and send to ISU.”

Yuuri ducked his head, hiding his lips. “Oh, that would be a _very_ big mistake,” he muttered to himself in Japanese.

“Che?” The two men looked at each other again. “What is he saying?”

“Almost,” Yuuri continued, “as big of a mistake as these cheap handcuffs, or the fact that you put my hands in front of me instead of behind—not that _that_ would have stopped me from slipping them either.” When he raised his eyes, he watched the confusion in the masked men’s eyes deepen as they took in the vicious smile on Yuuri’s face. “Honestly, are you guys even trying?” 

-

It was no accident that Emil seemed to perpetually owe Victor and Yuuri favors. In fact, it was carefully engineered. Although both of them knew how to fly the ISU jets, they were no longer allowed unrestricted access to the hangar after certain… incidents. But Emil was.

The ISU administrators weren’t stupid. They had to realize that Victor and Yuuri were using Emil for unauthorized access to the planes, and they could have easily put a stop to it if they wished. Instead, the organization turned a blind eye to unpermitted excursions, trusting that neither Victor nor Yuuri would put Emil at risk unless they truly needed to use the planes to fly somewhere and not simply to engage in further “wanton behavior”. 

Emil scanned his access card at the hangar door, which flashed green and slowly rolled upward. He folded his gangly form in half and ducked under the metal door, then slid a bag of equipment back across the concrete to land at Victor’s feet.

“Are you sure you don’t want a pilot?” he asked, gesturing back toward the plane with an easy, crooked grin. “It might be handy to have a second set of eyes around.”

“No, thank you,” Victor replied as he dug through the bag for a headset. A pilot might be useful, but what Victor was about to do didn’t need any additional witnesses. Victor assumed, always, that the ISU knew more about his activities than they typically let on, but the less that could be said about the next few hours of his life, the better.

He readied the plane for takeoff, going through his checks quickly and efficiently, then settled into the pilot’s seat to guide the bird out onto the runway before inputting his destination coordinates. Yuuri’s transmitter might not be broadcasting, but that didn’t mean Victor was flying blind. He knew where his husband was most likely to be, and if, by chance, he’d been removed from the compound already, Victor had no doubt he could find out where he’d been moved to, once a few of the guards were properly motivated to talk.

Victor had, after all, spent days researching the compound by any method available. It was his duty as Yuuri’s handler to ensure his agent got in and out of building undetected—and that meant that Victor knew exactly how to get _himself_ in as well.

The plane sped down the runway, then lifted smoothly into the air. Victor pulled it up with both hands, focusing on keeping himself steady and getting to a cruising altitude as quickly as he was able. Once he got there, he engaged the autopilot and sat back.

With the little red light illuminated on his instrument panel, Victor peered out the cockpit at the drifting ghosts of the clouds far below and absently twisted the gold band on his finger. With Yuuri in enemy hands, every minute that ticked by increased the risk that something would go wrong, and Victor would push himself to his absolute limits in order to prevent that.

-

Yuuri had been lucky so far, aside from the whole “capture” thing. After concluding that he couldn’t be interrogated without a Japanese speaker present, the guards had mostly lost interest in him and left. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t _completely_ incompetent. A pair of men in masks still remained, having clearly drawn the proverbial short straws. They were posted on either side of the door, both of them facing toward Yuuri. As they watched him, they chatted absently, and Yuuri had learned a lot about their feelings on the final episode of Game of Thrones and whether or not they thought Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was a good actor, but nothing of value in terms of his escape.

The cheap cuffs on his wrists were abrading his skin, and Yuuri was tempted to just slip the damn things for his own comfort. It would only take a second, but the guards were armed, and they were watching. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Instead, Yuuri had his head tilted back as he leaned into the chair. He kept his eyes slitted. From across the room, it would appear he was asleep or otherwise resting. Really, he was watching the room, forming a catalogue of items nearby that he could use to aid his escape—a broom, bleach, a bucket. Yuuri knew how to modify any of these things into weapons. All he needed was an opportunity. 

For now, he was forced to practice patience. Despite his quiet reputation, that wasn’t something that came easily to him. As he sat in the cell-slash-storage closet, the quiet conversation of the guards dropped away beneath the thump-thump-thump of Yuuri’s heartbeat pushing against his ear drums. The minutes ticked by, and with them came a slow roil of nausea. Without a distraction, Yuuri couldn’t help considering the worst possible outcomes to his capture. His mind returned to prod at it over and over, like pressing on a bitten lip with his tongue, feeling that spark of pain each time. 

He let his eyes fall closed completely, counting his breaths. _One, two, three—pause—one, two, three—pause—_ Yuuri reached for his usual visualization, and it came easily to his call. He and Victor stood together, their hands warm and intertwined despite the freezing breath of winter. They were by the sea, looking down from a rock wall to the frozen shallows, where the tide was pushing waves of slush onto the white sand. Overhead, Yuuri heard the cry of the black-tailed gulls...

-

From the outside, the compound wasn’t really anything special. It was squat and flat - metal and concrete and grey all over, and there was a disappointing lack of ravenous wolves, craggy mountains, or skull-shaped decor around the perimeter. It was hard to believe a building as dull as this one could possibly have managed to disable an agent as capable as Yuuri, but clearly they had some tricks up their sleeves after all. Victor knew now not to underestimate them.

He considered the spot where Yuuri had scaled the wall hours before, then discarded it. Though he’d love to trace his husband’s steps, he had to assume the compound was now aware of that particular weak point in their defense. However, his research told him there was another spot—a marshy corner near the back, where the lighting was poor. It would make a good alternative.

He was reaching for his first handhold when the transmitter in his ear emitted a faint beep.

“So, I see you made it to Milan,” Yakov’s gruff voice came through loud and clear, interrupting Victor’s ascent.

Victor paused, one hand still hanging on the fence. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, threading his voice with faux-surprise. “I was struck with a sudden urge to go shopping. Versace released the most incredible sunglasses, and I couldn’t wait to snag a pair.”

Yakov’s sigh was deep—definitely in the top ten deepest sighs Victor had ever pulled from the man, though nowhere near the top three. 

“Vitya,” he said, softly scolding, and it was like an instant flashback to Victor’s trainee days. Yakov had been Victor’s handler for most of his career, but, when Victor had retired, he’d finally taken an overdue promotion and risen in the ranks. They rarely saw one another outside of a passing nod in the halls of headquarters these days.

“I appreciate you checking in,” Victor replied breezily, “but haven’t you got something more important you need to get back to? What if one of your trainees escapes the dorms while we’re catching up?”

“They will die,” Yakov said. Victor could picture his stone-faced expression. “Too bad. You are stuck with me tonight—no one else available can keep up with you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“No.”

Victor smothered a laugh into his shoulder, then heaved himself onto the fence with a quiet grunt. “You know you’re the only handler for me, Yakov, but tonight I’m flying solo.”

“Oh,” Yakov said. “So you do not need my help?”

“Not tonight,” Victor answered. He was getting impatient now. He couldn’t focus on his entry into the compound with Yakov nattering on in his ear.

“Ah,” Yakov said smugly, “so you know there is a guard right beneath where you are climbing, then?”

Victor stopped cold. “What?”

Yakov scoffed. “You are still being foolish, Vitya. You forget how well I know you. My surveillance arrived when you did.” A quiet buzz like a dragonfly’s wings interrupted their conversation, and Victor looked up to see a small drone hovering a few feet above his head. If it hadn’t been directed to him, it would have been unnoticeable.

“You have a live feed now?” Victor asked.

“Yes. Your better entry point is two meters to the east. A place near the side door is currently unguarded, and the idiot who used it last left it propped open, but you’ll have to move fast, before he returns.”

“Heard and understood,” Victor said. With well-honed instincts, he quickly located the spot Yakov mentioned and flipped himself over the wall. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he dashed forward, locating the cool metal door of the building by flying on faith alone. Yakov’s direction was never wrong, much as Victor hated to admit that to the man himself.

Then, Victor was inside the compound. Yuuri was waiting for him.

“You’ll be on your own from here,” Yakov grumbled. In the background, Victor could hear a familiar high-pitched tone and smiled to himself. Someone _was_ breaking out of the trainee dorms. His money was on Plisetsky. 

“Thanks for the back-up, coach,” Victor said. “Good luck catching your loose kitten.”

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Yakov said, and then the transmitter went dead silent. 

That was fine. Victor would concentrate better without the distraction.

Although he came in through a different door than Yuuri, Victor had a mental map of the facility at the ready from his research. He knew—approximately—how to get to the room where Yuuri had disappeared. The only question was: where was Yuuri now? His first mission would be to somehow find out.

He kept his back to the wall as he crept down the short corridor he was in and paused at the corner. This section of the building was winding, but after this corner should be another, then another, and then a door that was protected by an electronic badge system. Of course, Yuuri had been carrying their only copy of the badge, but Victor would have to find a way through that door if he wanted to get to where Yuuri vanished.

As he waited, considering this, a guard in uniform rounded the corner.

There was a beat where they were both shocked into inaction, but Victor recovered first. Grabbing the guard by his lapels, Victor swung him around, pinning the man to the wall as he pressed his forearm like a bar across his throat.

The guard gurgled, but it was all theater. Victor wasn’t pushing hard enough to choke the man— yet. He watched as the guard’s eyes lifted, staring at Victor’s infamous silver hair, and smiled when the man’s eyes widened in recognition.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Victor purred, pressing a bit harder into the wall. “Now, be a good boy and tell me where you’ve put my husband?”

The guard’s face went grey as the wall at his back.

-

Yuuri was pulled from his meditative state by a stir in the room. The two guards were looking at one another, shifting in discomfort. Through the thick metal door of his cell, Yuuri heard a loud bang, then the sound of something heavy dropping on the floor. 

One of Yuuri’s guards approached the other, and they began to confer in tones too low for Yuuri to hear. He could guess the topic—something strange was afoot. They wanted to check it out, but were concerned about leaving Yuuri unguarded. After a moment of quiet conversation, one of the men nodded and moved to the door, leaving the other behind alone.

Yuuri tensed, readying himself. If there was any opportunity here—any chance at all—he’d have to be ready to take it. It might be the only chance he had.

As the door closed behind the departing guard, the other man turned to watch it swing. That was it.

With a wince that was more anticipation than pain, Yuuri dislocated his thumb. He slipped one side of the cuffs off, scraping skin off his wrist, then popped his thumb back into place. The guard turned around when he heard the _crack_ as Yuuri snapped the back off the chair he was tied to, but by then it was too late. He looked at Yuuri just in time to see a block of splintered wood come crashing down onto his head.

Yuuri paused, the back of the chair still gripped in his hands, and watched to make sure the guard was out. The man didn’t stir. Yuuri’s chair piece dropped on the concrete with a clatter as he hurried to untie the rags binding his ankles to the legs. The staff here really hadn’t been well prepared for an incursion—they’d obviously just dumped Yuuri in this supply closet on impulse and bound him up with whatever they had lying around. 

The door creaked—the second guard was coming back. Yuuri grabbed the nearest potential weapons and waited, slipping out of sight behind the door until the gap widened. The guard’s head appeared around the edge, and Yuuri threw bleach in his eyes. In a few seconds, the man was down, his unconscious body draped in a heap across the back of the other. 

Propping the door open with his foot, Yuuri tossed the two splintered ends of the broom he’d used over against the wall and dusted his hands off of his pants. He’d destroyed his last improvised weapon, but that was fine. He could find another once he got outside.

-

Victor’s element of surprise was long gone by the time he reached the second hallway, where the third guard he came across had let out a yelp like a bee-stung puppy at the sight of him. But the first guy had talked easily once he recognized Victor, so at least Victor knew where he was going now.

He pulled an ID card off the man in uniform slumped near his feet and scanned it at the electronic lock, which popped open with a whirr and a click. Victor could hear the pounding cadence of boots on the floor even as he clotheslined the first guard in the next corridor. _Damn_. He could keep up like this for a while still, but ultimately Victor was a spy, not a soldier, and when a group of three more men came rushing at him, he knew he was getting close to being overwhelmed. 

Back to the wall to protect himself, Victor did his best, though three-on-one was hardly fair. Chris would undoubtedly make a lascivious joke in this situation, but Victor was drawing a blank. He had a baton in one hand—taken from a previous opponent, at the expense of his own shoulder, which was now throbbing—and a taser tucked in his belt for emergencies, but the scene wasn’t ideal.

He took down one of the men, cracking him across the nose with the baton, and slid along the wall to the next corner. His best hope was that the other corridor would have some type of cover for him, a door he could bottleneck the guards in, or maybe— _god_ —one of those glass cases with a fire hatchet in it like in a cartoon.

He’d never seen one in real life before, but a boy could dream, right?

Victor took another guard by surprise, stepping hard on his toe to distract him before jabbing him in the face. His fist was sore. His whole _arm_ was sore. Plisetsky was right—he was getting too old for this stuff.

Feeling the corner of the wall press into the fingertips of his left hand, relief in sight, Victor gave up on fancy spy moves. He kicked the third guard in the nuts. As the man folded, Victor fled into the next hall.

More guards. Three of them, again, and Victor tensed, suddenly _exhausted_. He fumbled for the taser, knowing it was the last trick he had up his sleeve, then paused.

He knew _that_ style of movement. 

It wasn’t three guards he faced, but two. The third man—he moved like a dancer, falling with ease into a back bend to avoid a strike, lashing out upward, then dodging back, too quick for his opponents. Victor’s heart swelled, and he smiled with every tooth he had, fiercely joyous.

With renewed energy, Victor dashed down the hall, whipping out his taser. He pressed the prongs to the back of one of the guards and watched the man crumple. “Excuse me,” he quipped to the baffled other guard, “but do you mind if I cut in?”

Yuuri’s laugh was pure melody, and he decked the guard still standing. “I _never_ mind,” he said, his answering smile just as wide.

They might as well have been standing at the front of a cathedral instead of in a dingy laboratory hallway. It seemed to each of them that the other was haloed in light, wrapped in the warm glow of stained glass and a choir of children’s voices. Victor was struck bodily by a sudden need to marry this man—again.

He was about to drop to his knee when his internal choir of angels was interrupted by the sound of boots echoing on concrete—a lot of boots.

The two of them always fit together in a thousand little ways, and standing back to back was no different. For Yuuri, having Victor’s shoulders pressed into his own felt more stable than any wall. They knew intimately what the other was capable of, where their strengths and weaknesses played out. Even in the face of bad odds, it was as comfortable and secure as sitting at home on their couch.

“What took you so long, anyway?” Victor asked. “You couldn’t save yourself a little faster?”

“Maybe I’m just hoping someday _you’ll_ be quick enough that I won’t need to,” Yuuri countered.

Five new guards rounded the corner, and they both shifted their stance.

They had three out of commission, and the last two weren’t looking good, when lights began to flash white overheard. A thin, high-pitched wail emitted from a nearby speaker, and Victor and Yuuri tensed. Someone had finally pulled the alarms. They were about to be in very deep shit.

They quickly dispatched the two remaining guards, and Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he shouted over the claxon. “This way!” 

Dashing down the corridor, Victor felt a glimmer of hope that—perhaps—they’d get out of the compound without any more fighting. Then, he nearly popped his shoulder from its socket (again) as Yuuri stopped dead. 

“What are you doing?”

“Hang on,” Yuuri said, fishing a key card from the waistband of his pants. He scanned it at the nearest door, which beeped and flashed green, and he shoved his way inside. Exasperated, Victor followed.

It was a lab room, all stainless steel tables and devices that Victor should definitely not touch. He grabbed a chair and shoved it under the door handle, hoping it would slow down any pursuit.

“We don’t have time—” Victor began, but Yuuri had already grabbed a large vial of shining, ruby red liquid. 

“Lift me,” Yuuri said, nodding to the tiny window set high on the wall. It was going to be a tight squeeze for either of them—barely wide enough for Victor’s shoulders and probably _not_ wide enough for Yuuri’s bubble butt—but, as Victor heard the first guards scraping at the door knob, it was probably a better bet than the corridors.

“Love to,” Victor said. He hoisted Yuuri up on his shoulders and tried not to squirm as Yuuri poked and prodded the window frame even as Victor could hear more guards gathering just outside the door.

With a creak, the window finally came free of the frame, and Yuuri hoisted himself through, only briefly arrested by the shape of his ample rear end before he popped loose. Grabbing a chair for a boost, Victor followed, tucking into a roll as he tumbled out onto the grass on the other side.

Yuuri was already up and running, precariously balancing the vial he’d snatched in one hand as he used the other to help scale the wall. Victor stopped for one second—long enough to thank fate for this momentary glimpse at the view he’d so wished for at the start of this mission—and then followed, adding a little twist of flair as he flipped over the top of the wall and landed on the other side in a crouch.

“Show off,” Yuuri teased. 

“Why do something simple when you can have a little fun?” Victor asked. His arm was still aching from the fights, and the extra oomph in his jump hadn’t helped, but Yuuri could fret over that later, when they were both safe.

“No, I meant _that_ ,” Yuuri said, nodding across the field, where an ISU jet was waiting. “Did you really need to land that close to the compound?”

Victor froze. “That’s… not my plane.”

The door popped open, and Phichit peered out, his bright smile visible across the pasture as he waved his arms. “Hurry up, slowpokes! This is your final boarding call for flight Get The Hell Out Of Here.”

That spur was all Victor and Yuuri needed to get a last little burst of energy. They sprinted across the last few meters as the gates of the compound rumbled open behind them, the few guards still standing in hot pursuit.

Victor reached the door first and heaved himself inside, then reached back to lift Yuuri in after him. He could feel the plane’s engines already revving to life, vibrating the metal beneath him as Phichit latched the door.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Victor gasped, leaning back into the wall of the jet. Yuuri was collapsed too, draped half across his legs. He stuck up his arm, and Phichit plucked the bright red vial from his fingers. 

“ _I_ let Emil fly me here,” Phichit said, rolling his eyes. “You know, the professional pilot? You two should try it sometime, instead of doing everything yourselves.”

The intercom beeped, and a familiar, cheery voice floated through the cabin. “Buckle up, friends. Looks like our new buddies have some pretty heavy artillery, so this bird is taking off fast.”

Yuuri and Victor both scrambled to get to their feet and into the nearest seats in the cabin, knowing Emil meant business. They were still fumbling to get their seat belts on when the plane took off—feeling like it was launching straight up. 

The velocity made Victor’s heart pound again, but soon they had leveled off, and at last he had breathing room. He looked over to see Yuuri still carefully adjusting the fit of his safety belt and smiled, reaching over to help. 

“Good to have you back,” Victor said quietly.

“Good to _be_ back,” Yuuri agreed. He caught Victor’s hands on the straps criss-crossing his chest and gave them a squeeze. 

There was a lot hiding within their statements—the very real danger Yuuri had been in, Victor’s fear for him, the risk Victor had put himself through, and over that a possibility that always existed on missions: that one of them wouldn’t come home.

Later, when they were back in their own apartment, they would curl around Makkachin and cling to one another desperately. They would talk and hold each other close and promise (lying) never to risk their safety for the other ever again.

But that was later. For now, they had other ways to deal with the situation.

“What to join the mile high club?” Victor asked, a sly smile spreading over his face.

“Not _again_ ,” Yuuri laughed, flushing. “Shouldn’t I be the president by now?”

“Phichit won’t mind,” Victor said, pressing the latch on the same safety belts they’d just finished adjusting.

“Phichit can _hear you_ ,” the intercom crackled, interjecting into their conversation. “Don’t make me come back there with a spray bottle.” 

Victor chuckled, resting his forehead on Yuuri’s. The sun was rising, casting pink, blue, and gold through the plane windows as they hit their cruising altitude, and it made Yuuri’s skin look soft and glowing, his dark eyes bright. Victor cradled his husband’s head and pressed their lips together, welcoming him home. 

When they landed in St. Petersburg again, it was Phichit who emerged from the cockpit first. He found them curled together, each in their own seat and belted, but legs overlapping and hands still intertwined. Their heads had fallen against one another in sleep, silver threaded into black, and they looked more like a pair of puppies cuddled up in the back of a car than the world’s most decorated spies.

Quietly tiptoeing through the cabin with the macguffin Yuuri had captured, Phichit left them, for the moment, in a space where they had no worries.

**Author's Note:**

> I post previews and other ramblings on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/louciferish)!
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr and pillowfort as louciferish, but Twitter is currently my most active platform. :)


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